


Anabranch

by zacekova



Series: What Came From The Headwater [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kuron is Shiro (Voltron)'s Clone, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Polyamory, Post-Season/Series 05, Reunions, Self-Indulgent, Shiro is back!, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 08:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16155365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacekova/pseuds/zacekova
Summary: The man Lance hadthoughtwas Shiro stands a few paces away, distant, precarious - he’s just had his whole existence torn apart and rearranged into an ugly, misshapen imitation of what it used to be - while the real Shiro and Lance pick themselves up from where they’d collapsed on the hanger floor. He’s stiff in parade rest, eyes averted, and Shiro’s gaze moves to him - rivets itself to him.Shiro rests an elbow on his folded knee - his face lined with caution and uncertainty - and asks, “Who are you?”





	Anabranch

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally intended this to be for Shance Fluff Week back in June. But uhh.... well it just wouldn’t let itself be written for awhile and then it got way angstier than anything for a fluff week should be and then I had to _edit_ the darn thing and now it’s October. Whoops. Thank goodness for Hymn and her encouragement or this would never have been finished. 
> 
> Since I started writing it in May, it goes canon-divergent somewhere near the end of season 5 and plays around _just a little_ with theorizing what clone-Shiro may have been planted for. But I’m writing this more for the angst and relationship feels than to dissect the canon, so there’s probably plot holes in my take on the matter. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Anyway, this has been torturing me for months but I actually still really love this thing. In fact I love it so much it’s going to get a sequel. Eventually. I just have to get through NaNo first because I already have a Voltron novel-length fic in the works. Until then, please enjoy my attempts at getting these pessimists together.
> 
> Visual inspiration for [”Dreams”](https://goo.gl/images/B1yx2Q) and [”Cold”](https://goo.gl/images/G5VQ58).

######  _Dreams_

 

The Black Lion tugs on his soul and he dreams of a Shiro made of stars.

 

_~~~_

 

_There’s a river of milk flowing through an endless plane of dirt and ash and frozen stone; it’s cyclical, rhythmic, astronomical. The path of it is long and wide and deep, a swathe of pale energy in the midst of gaping darkness. An empyreal road._

_A cosmic way of milk._

_He dives into the river, dives down to the bed of scattered lights and shifting gravel that churns and turns over and around in a pattern of eternity. There’s order here - a chaotic, harmonious map of moving pieces. Separate. Independent. Defiant. But all singing the same song. He flies through the dancers, flies over the dance, pleased by their vibrant clothes and the lights they carry._

_Each one unique._

_Through the echoing void of soundless shadow comes a voice; gentle, urgent. A purple voice, laced with courage and_ _displacement, echoing back on itself in quiet layers_ _._

 

_ “Lance.”  _

 

_A siren’s beckon._

 

_ “Lance.”  _

 

_The river runs long and far and he swims along its frigid belly with frosted fingertips and a pounding heart. The sandy dancers tug at his clothes and beg him to join, twirling jeweled dresses of swirling nebulae - light and cold and color. Their touch spreads ice in his joints and his brain._

 

_“I can’t stay with you,” he says to them. “I have to find him.”_

 

_They part as water on rock and he slips through the gap, slips through their grasping fingers, slips through the empty space and closer, closer, closer to the call._

 

_ “Lance.”  _

 

_He comes to the headwater, a wet mirror of fireflies and shining crystal and through it - a violet sky of stars._

_He plunges through, shattering the glass in a spray of shimmering droplets. Down, down, down, deeper than death, deeper than breathing, till he rises up from the depths on an endless plane of shallow oceans and twilit heavens._

 

_“Lance.”_

 

_He turns. He sees._

_He breathes..._

 

_“Shiro.”_

 

_He is outlined in ink, black as night and faintly glowing, but the rest - his flesh is made of stars. Zephyrs of light and cosmic dust swirl in gentle eddies, glacial, elegant, and his body mingles with the astral world. A hand of constellations reaches out for him and Lance—_

_Lance reaches back._  

_Shiro feels like solar flares and arctic diamonds, feels like heat and ice and the awe of galaxies. He feels real._

_Lance pulls him close, breathes in the scent of starlight, and rests. They’ll be okay._  

_Shiro’s grip holds the strength of comets, his voice rich with the eclipse of heavenly bodies but quiet as a beam of moonlight._

 

_“Lance.”_

 

_“I’m here, Shiro. I’m taking you home.”_

 

_The promise thunders out of his mouth in a wave of power, cracking the glass beneath their feet, and they fall. Down, down, down, deeper than death, deeper than breathing, till they rise up from the depths to a light as bright as the sun, as bright as souls, as bright as life, and land with a crunch of fractured armor on the hanger floor._

 

They’re back.

 

 

######  _LAUGHTER_

 

The man Lance had _thought_  was Shiro stands a few paces away, distant, precarious - he’s just had his whole existence torn apart and rearranged into an ugly, misshapen imitation of what it used to be - while the real Shiro and Lance pick themselves up from where they’d collapsed on the hanger floor. He’s stiff in parade rest, eyes averted, and Shiro’s gaze moves to him - rivets itself to him.

Shiro rests an elbow on his folded knee - his face lined with caution and uncertainty - and asks, “Who are you?” 

The other one flinches, cringes, face crumpling like he’s in pain.

Lance’s gaze switches back and forth between the two of them, hands twisting around and around in his lap. He hadn’t thought ahead to this moment before now, honestly; hadn’t considered what Shiro would do, what he would say. There’s a very real chance of this conversation going horribly for any number of reasons, so Lance tries to jump in preemptively and maybe - _hopefully_ \- keep the damage to a minimum. 

“We found him a few months after you disappeared,” he explains, hardly above a whisper in the vast room. “We… we didn’t realize he wasn’t— Even _he_ thought that he was you.”

The other one - the other _Shiro_ \- laughs, a strangled sound that gets caught in his throat. “We’re all idiots.”

And that— that stings a bit, because, well, Lance is a forgiving person, always has been. Even more so when it comes to Shiro. But even he can admit that they’ve been hurt, the _team_ has been hurt by this... this _not_ -Shiro. He’s never put them in deliberate danger, never physically harmed any of them on purpose - and Lance will vouch for him in a heartbeat - but...  
  
But he _has_ taken risks Shiro never would have, been more reckless, more harsh and controlling in his leadership. He’s an uncompromising boss with an unsettling drive to succeed rather than the cooperative, protective leader Shiro had been. It’s put all of them in bad situations on more than one occasion and they all know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of his icy, vicious glares. That’s probably the biggest reason Keith left; nothing feels worse than knowing you’ve disappointed Shiro.

And, _god_ , it must be _killing him_. It  _looks_ like it’s killing him. And any one of those would be reason enough for Shiro to be pissed on their own, let alone the great heaping mess that’s piled up the last few months.

So, maybe Lance should be angrier - after all, not-Shiro has been more impatient with Lance than all the rest of them combined - but he gets it. Lance is gabby and annoying and he can never read the mood of a room right; he really does legitimately need someone to tell him to shut up half the time. The team has a mountain - a mountain _range_ \- of responsibilities on their shoulders, so much pressure to do well, and that would stress anyone out, could make anyone lose a bit of their compassion. Lance can drive anyone up the wall on a normal day and not-Shiro hasn’t had a normal day in a long time.

So he’s not angry, not really. No version of Shiro would ever hurt any of them on purpose if he could help it, so whatever the reason not-Shiro is so difficult, so different, has to be the Galra’s fault. Has to be. And Lance will fight to prove that until he’s blue in the face. 

Shiro looks between them, considering. “How about you start at the beginning?” he asks, calm and reasonable, but there’s a bite to his tone.

Not-Shiro’s expression pinches, gaze fixed on the floor, but he nods and starts to explain. He never slows down, never falters, not even when his voice starts to crack and his hands tremble.  
  
Lance has heard all of this before - all those gut-wrenching, horrifying words - just a few hours ago. It’s not any easier the second time.  
  
Some of it doesn’t seem so bad, not at first and not when they’re considered separately, anyway. But all piled up the evidence is pretty damning. Like how there’s always an insistent, grating ache in not-Shiro’s head - pounding and pricking like icicles. How he can’t seem to control his temper anymore. How there’s gaps in his memory and not all of them are old. 

“I’ve just felt... off,” he murmurs, voice rasping and quiet in the still hanger. “For months. Like I’m not… Like I’m not myself.”

And then there’s the more worrying things. Like how it was far too easy to escape from the Galra a second time when logically it should have been _more_ difficult, downright impossible, even. How Black wouldn’t let him in until there was literally no other choice. How even Lotor was able to use the black bayard but he couldn’t. Can’t.  
  
Not-Shiro goes through it all robotically, the dead monotone of his voice getting more ragged and pained the closer he gets to the end. When he finally turns to look at them with haunted, shimmering eyes, Lance wants nothing more than to reach out and give his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “I remember what being you is like,” he says, “but I’m not— I’m not _Shiro_.” His face is crumpled - broken, devastated - tears shining in his eyes. “I wasn’t even good at faking it.”  
  
Shiro watches him for a long moment, the lines of his face contemplative but otherwise unreadable. “How did you figure it out?” he asks. “How did you know for sure you weren’t... me?”  
  
Not-Shiro sucks in a shaky breath - runs his flesh hand up the back of his head - lets it out again, slow and quiet. “Black told me,” he says, barely more than a whisper and trembling. “She told me I don’t have the same energy, and then I remembered how Lance had told me about what happened in the astral plane on Olkarion. I didn’t remember any of it, _don’t_ remember any of it, and I thought— I thought maybe I don’t remember because _I_ wasn’t the one who was there. So I told him what Black said and we figured we should try asking her more.”  
  
“And she showed me how to find you,” Lance cuts in, shrugging.  
  
Shiro’s brow furrows. “How?”  
  
Lance’s gaze goes distant, his mind slipping back into the dream Black had shown him. Except, it wasn’t _only_ a dream, apparently; he really did find Shiro and bring him back.

“I’m not really sure,” Lance says. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. It was like I was dreaming, traveling through space to where I could hear you calling for me. And then I fell through a lake and into Black’s mind but I was still _in_ space, somehow, and you were in both of those places.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m not making any sense. I think you got stuck wherever you were and Black couldn’t show you the way out because she can’t leave her own head. Someone had to go in and guide you out and I guess I was good enough for the job.”  
  
Shiro’s gaze is piercing - depthless and burning - and he gives a slow, careful nod before turning back to Not-Shiro. “You don’t know anything else about why— why you’re here?” he asks.  
  
Not-Shiro shakes his head, jaw clenching. “Nothing.”  
  
“Okay,” Shiro says, deflating on a brief sigh and running a hand through his hair. “Okay. We should talk to Pidge, see if she knows a way to get any more information on this.” He braces himself on the floor and levers himself to his feet, setting his shoulders like he does before a facing a challenge. He turns toward the hanger entrance, but barely makes it a single step before his knees buckle and he starts to fall.  
  
Lance lunges to catch him, arms slotting under his armpits and barring across his chest. “Whoa! Maybe we should get you something to eat first. And a chair, definitely a chair. You need to sit down.”  
  
“Sorry,” Shiro says, grunting as Lance shifts him around so his arm is over Lance’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize how weak I was just sitting there.”  
  
“No problem, no problem,” Lance says. And,  _fuck_ \- Shiro is freakishly warm and firm where’s he’s plastered along Lance’s side. But it’s fine, no big deal, he can handle this without swooning like a rich lady on a hot day. He swallows, winding his arm around Shiro’s waist and giving him a reassuring smile. “You haven’t had a body in a long time, you should take it slow...” he says, trailing off as movement from the corner of his eye draws his gaze.

Not-Shiro is palming the back of his neck and backing away silently, hesitantly toward the door. “I’ll uh... I’ll just go tell the other’s you’re back,” he says, throwing fleeting glances at the two of them but mostly staring at the floor, the wall, everything _else_.  
  
Lance nods, heart sinking at how broken down and— and quiznacking _resigned_  Not-Shiro looks about all of this. He wants to give _him_ a reassuring smile, too, but he won’t even meet Lance’s eyes so... So yeah, that won’t work. “I’m gonna take Shiro up to the kitchen for something to eat,” Lance says, gentle as he‘s capable of being, but he can’t seem to wrestle up his usual cheer. “Maybe you could get everyone up to speed and then meet us there?”  
  
Not-Shiro’s jaw shifts, teeth clenching, before he nods. “Yeah, alright. Can’t have Coran fainting when he sees you,” he says, directing the last bit at Shiro, the edge of his mouth curving in a poor attempt at a grin; it doesn’t reach his eyes.  
  
When neither Lance or Shiro chuckle at his attempt at levity his mouth twists for a moment before he turns and strides off, every line of his body rigid with tension.  
  
Lance’s heart falls, and then his face too. This isn’t going well. Shiro may not be mad - at least, he hasn’t acted mad - but the Shiro that’s been living in the castle the last few months is obviously expecting the other shoe to drop at any second. Maybe he thinks the others won’t be as calm and rational about this. Maybe he thinks they’ll kick him off the ship. Maybe he thinks something even worse. Either way, Lance had meant to make sure he knows that even if no one else is, Lance is on his side. But he’s missed his chance and now it’s going to have to wait. The others need to know about all of this, preferably before one of them accidentally runs into him and Shiro, and Shiro really needs to get some food in him before he collapses.  
  
Lance shifts a bit underneath Shiro’s arm, settling it more comfortably over his shoulders and making sure Shiro has his feet under him before heading off toward the kitchen.  
  
It’s uncomfortably silent for the first few hundred yards - no sound except for Shiro’s quiet panting echoing dully down the corridor as he takes one trembling step after another - and Lance scrambles for something to say. “I’m uhh, really happy you’re back,” is what he eventually blurts out, stilted and sounding more like a question than a statement at the end. He smashes his mouth closed before he can say something even dumber.  
  
Shiro’s eyes flit over to him, accompanied by a tiny, grateful smile - apparently nice enough to ignore all of Lance’s awkward. “Thanks for finding me,” he says. “I wouldn’t have found my way back without your help.”  
  
“Oh, um...” Lance flushes and turns his head away. Doesn’t Shiro know what that smile _does to people?_ “It was mostly Black who did that,” he squeaks out. “I just kind of— held your hand along the way. No big deal.”  
  
Shiro chuckles, low and cheerful and _breathtaking_ , and shakes his head. “If you say so, but I still want to find a way to thank you. You should think of something.”  
  
Lance doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t even know where to begin, so he doesn’t say anything. There’s a riot of nervous butterflies having a rave in his belly and he needs all of his focus to stop the party before they start breaking things. Like his brain. He keeps his gaze forward, mouth shut tight for the rest of the walk through the castle.  
  
He deposits Shiro in the dining room, leaving him slumped in a chair to catch his breath while Lance goes on to raid the kitchen. There’s some leftover soup Hunk made the other day and Lance warms up a bowl of it and snags the biggest glass he can find to fill up with water. He sets both items on a tray and grabs a spoon and some napkins before carrying it all back to Shiro with careful but dramatic flourish.  
  
Shiro’s smart enough to take it slow, taking small sips and waiting a couple of minutes for the water to settle before he tries the soup. He’s managed a few mouthfuls when the hallway echoes with the thunder of multiple pairs of running feet, battering the floor with hurried desperation.

Keith rounds the doorway first, freezing mid-step with wide-confused-uncertain eyes. Lance can feel a deep well of gratefulness open up inside of himself for the fact that Keith just so happened to come for a visit a few days ago; out of all of them, Keith should be here for this.  
  
The others are only a few seconds behind him, skidding around the corner and stilling with various expression of hesitancy-awe-relief on their faces.  
  
“Shiro?” Keith asks, soft, careful, quivering with tremulous hope.  
  
Lance sees Shiro smile, that gentle smile that’s always been reserved for Keith no matter how much he’s come to like the rest of them. “Hey, Keith,” he says, just as soft. “I missed you.”  
  
And - wonder of all wonders - Keith’s bottom lip trembles, his big, slate blue eyes fill with tears, and he buries his face in his hands and _sobs_. The Lance of a few months ago would have been filled with the vindictive, eager urge to tease, but now all he feels is a churning, teary mess of joy, and bitter sadness, and the echo of Keith’s overwhelming guilt. He knows Keith is blaming himself for this, for not realizing that who they found wasn’t Shiro; the shame and brokenheartedness is written all over his face as grief battles with relief. Shiro is back, he’s safe and okay, now, despite Keith’s failure.  
  
Not that any of them blame him - what is there to blame him for? 

Shiro hoists himself up onto his feet the moment Keith’s tears break free and staggers forward. He’s steadier than he was on the way up from the hanger, albeit a little shaky, still, his knees wobbling like a newborn foal. But it doesn’t matter. His unwavering determination carries him across the floor and he throws his arms around Keith’s shoulders, tucking Keith’s head under his chin. “I’m alright. I’m okay,” he says, murmuring it over and over into Keith’s hair as Keith tangles his fingers in Shiro’s shirt.  
  
The quiet words seem to break the breathless anticipation hanging over the rest of them because Pidge, Hunk, Allura, and Coran all charge into the room, slamming into each other and the huddled forms of Shiro and Keith, tangling together and around one another in a convoluted pile of limbs.  
  
Lance laughs, delighted at all the crying, the laughing, the talking over one another, welcoming Shiro back with tearful smiles and crushing embraces. Shiro stands there, woven into the center of them and beaming as bright as the sun.

 

 

######  _FAMILY_

 

It’s Shiro’s stomach grumbling that rouses everyone from their stifling embrace. They untangle from each other with quiet chuckles and Lance wipes a few stray tears out of his eyes, glancing around at everyone’s smiling faces; they haven’t all been this happy since those first few days training as paladins, back before everything went apples and bananas. It’s nice.

Movement draws his gaze over to the doorway where Not-Shiro is hovering with his arms crossed protectively over his chest, gaze boring through the floor. He looks small, insecure - so different from the way he’s always exuded confidence and charm - and the discordance with his size and his singular, powerful personality is jarring, distressing.  
  
Lance can’t help but stop and watch him, noting how his shoulders keep slumping before he forces them straight again, repeating the cycle every few seconds over and over again. How he keeps making furtive glances at the paladins and Coran, chatting and hugging and somehow managing to skip right over mentioning anything of significance that happened while Shiro was gone. There’s longing in his eyes, a desperate yearning and growing heartbreak. He looks like he’s already resigned himself to losing this, losing _them_.

“Shiro,” Lance says.  
  
Not-Shiro flinches, turning his head to the side with a pained frown for a long moment before his eyes flick back open. He slowly turns back to face the room, wary and watchful and so full of fear.

The others had gone silent at the sound of Lance’s voice and looked up, following his gaze to the doorway when they realized he wasn’t even looking at them. The atmosphere in the room darkens, heavy and tense as the others finally start to process what the real Shiro being back _means_.  
  
“So who are you?” Pidge asks, but whether her eyes are narrowed with curiosity or suspicion Lance can’t tell. “Or what are you?”  
  
Not-Shiro’s metal fingers dig into the meat of his arm, gaze dropping back to the floor. “I’m... I thought I was Shiro,” he says, voice lowering to a whisper by the last word.    
  
“Are you really saying you had no knowledge of this?” Allura asks, voice ringing with disbelief. “No inkling whatsoever?”  
  
“I—” he stops, expression shuttering. “I don’t _know_. I’m Takashi Shirogane. My mother’s name is Nao and I graduated from the Garrison at the top of my class and I like chocolate milk. I was taken by the Galra twice and escaped both times and I knew nothing was more important than getting back to my team. Because I’ve never done anything worth more in my life than being a Paladin of Voltron.” He stops again, finally looking at all of them straight on, eyes shimmering with tears. “Who am I if I’m not Shiro?”  
  
Lance’s heart shatters. It hasn’t mattered to him from the start what or who this man really is, not from the moment he came to Lance with Black’s revelation, shoulders squared and devastation in his eyes. He has Shiro’s memories and Shiro’s massive heart and Shiro’s unwavering determination to save the universe, and all of that has been ripped away from him and left him with nothing.

He’s Shiro. _A_ Shiro, anyway, and he’s lost and hurting and that’s more than enough reason to help him - to protect him - for Lance.  
  
He marches forward while everyone is still processing and comes to a stop right in front of _O_ _ther_ -Shiro, a steady, solid shield between him and the others. He steps in close and wraps his hands around other-Shiro’s upper arms, a firm but gentle grip that Other-Shiro can easily slip free of if he needs to, wants to. “Hey, take a deep breath, okay?” Lance says, voice pitched low and watching with concern as Other-Shiro nods and closes his eyes, sucking in a shaky breath. “It’s gonna be okay, we got this. We’re gonna figure this out.”  
  
Other-Shiro’s brow pinches and he leans forward - rests his forehead on Lance’s - takes a few more deep, slow breaths until some of the tension starts to seep away. “Don’t leave?” he whispers, and it’s tiny and frightened and Lance’s heart tightens painfully in his chest.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Lance says.  
  
Other-Shiro nods again, straightening up and opening his eyes, bright with resolve, but fragile as a broken shard. “Okay.”  
  
Lance nods and steps to the side, turning around so they can face the others as a united front. “Can we try this again but without the implied accusations?” he asks, brows raised. “I’m pretty sure _any_ version of Shiro at least deserves the benefit of the doubt.”  
  
Surprisingly, it’s Shiro who nods first, calm and agreeable, but there’s a tightness around his mouth Lance can’t identify. “Why don’t we all sit down so I can keep eating while we talk,” he says, and moves to do just that, letting Keith help him hobble back to the table and ease him into his chair.  
  
The others follow along, some of them more hesitant than others, and Lance gives Other-Shiro a reassuring smile and coaxes him toward the table with a tilt of his head. Other-Shiro takes the seat directly across from his counterpart while Lance plants himself in the seat next to him, opposite Keith. Pidge and Hunk squirrel themselves away at the foot of the table, framing the corner with Pidge on the end, and Allura takes the opposite end, arms folded across her chest and gaze hard, but waiting patiently. Coran stands just behind and to the side of her, as usual.

And then it’s quiet for a long, uncomfortable minute.  
  
“I can be gone in less than a varga,” Other-Shiro says, breaking the silence. “I know none of you want me here anyway and, regardless of that, I _can’t_ stay.”  
  
Shiro frowns and leans forward to brace his elbows on the table. “Why do you think that?”  
  
Other-Shiro levels him with a look. “I’m sure you can come to the same conclusion I have.”  
  
“So can I,” Allura cuts in, voice hard. “We can’t trust you. Even if you don’t know anything, the fact that you exist and that you are here means there’s likely a plan from the Galra involving you. Maybe you know nothing about it, but you’re a danger to us all anyway. We can’t risk keeping you here.”  
  
Other-Shiro slumps, waving vaguely in Allura’s direction. “What she said. So why don’t we just get this over with so l can go?”  
  
“We can’t just abandon him!” Lance shouts, and everyone turns to look at him, but his eyes are fixed on Allura. The others can be won over - Pidge and Hunk are always willing to take a chance with someone unless the other Holts are involved, and... and there’s no way Keith won’t stick up for any version of Shiro. No way. So it’s Allura that needs persuading. “Even if he is part of some Galra plot to take us down it’s not his fault. He doesn’t know anything. Are we really just going to say ‘sorry, nice knowing ya,’ and kick him out? I thought we were a team, a family.”  
  
Allura’s lips press together, eyes flashing through a series of emotions almost too fast to catch - frustration, fear, anger, betrayal, pity - before settling on a mix of regret and cool reserve. “Lance, I understand that you feel a connection to him, that you cannot forget your bond with a fellow paladin, but keeping him here could put the entire universe at stake. Even if he’s an unwilling, ignorant piece, he’s still the key that could take down Voltron. You do understand that, don’t you?”  
  
“When you were captured by the Galra, Shiro was the one who said we had to go after you, no matter the risk,” Lance says, surprised at how calm he sounds even though his hands are shaking. “He would never have left you behind.”  
  
Allura’s face turns apologetic. “Yes, and I will always be grateful for that, but _he’s_ not really—”  
  
Lance slams his hand on the table. “He _is_ fucking _too!_ ” Lance glances around at the rest of them, takes in Pidge and Hunk’s gazes darting between him and Allura with apprehension; Keith, frowning like he’s trying to solve the universe’s hardest math problem; Shiro, watching him steadily, face unreadable; _O_ _ther_ -Shiro, head still hanging and shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world rests on them. He turns back to Allura.  
  
“He’s Shiro,” Lance says, calmer, steadier, but tinged with desperation, trying to make her _hear_ , to understand. “He has all the same memories up until the fight with Zarkon, he remembers all of that bonding we did as a team, all the battles we went through, all the choices Shiro made and all the work we’ve done to save the universe. When he came to us, he was the Shiro we all knew. And he would never have given up on any of us. We can’t just leave him.”  
  
Allura’s lips are pursed but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to refute anything Lance has said. The heavy tension lingers and his ears ring in the silence.  
  
“You need a name,” Pidge says, strangely relaxed and breaking the stalemate. “‘Shiro 2.0’ sounds okay in my head but I doubt you want to use that.”  
  
Other-Shiro finally lifts his head up and looks over at Pidge, brow pinched and eyes swirling with a mixture of sadness-confusion-surprise. “Pidge...”

Shiro hums, gaze roving over Other-Shiro’s face with a thoughtful expression. “What about—“  
  
“No!” Other-Shiro shouts, whipping his head around in panic and making everyone jump. “Don’t.”  
  
Shiro looks at him searchingly for a long moment before giving a hesitant nod. “Yeah, alright.”  
  
Other-Shiro’s expression turns pained - Lance wants to grab hold of his hand and _squeeze_ \- but he just shakes his head and looks away.  
  
“Wanna explain?” Hunk asks, eyes darting back and forth between the two Shiros.  
  
Shiro throws him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, don’t worry about it.” He turns back to his counterpart and taps a metal finger on the table to get his attention, waiting until he looks up to speak. “I know what you’re thinking, but if Black let you pilot her and the others were okay with the way you’ve been leading them, then I’m not going to tell you to leave. I’m sure we can find a way to make sure everyone is safe.”  
  
Other-Shiro closes his eyes and hunches over, resting his head in his hands. “Please, just...” he pauses, and the way his voice has gone ragged and hoarse makes Lance’s throat tighten. “Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get _mine_ up. I doubt I’m going to be around much longer.”  
  
And with that, Lance gives in to the urge and reaches over to gently coax Other-Shiro’s flesh hand away from his face, tangling their fingers together. “It’s not about _getting_ our hopes up. It’s about not _giving_ our hopes up. We’re not giving up on you, not until we fix this.”  
  
Other-Shiro’s gaze is locked with his for a breathless, endless second, a desperate hunger in his eyes, before he glances around at the rest of them. Slowly, one after another, they all nod in agreement - even Allura, though she still seems wary.  
  
“As many times as it takes,” Keith says, the corner of his mouth curling up in a knowing smile.  
  
Other-Shiro sucks in a surprised breath, eyes closing as his bottom lip quivers. “Okay,” he says, a bit watery. “Okay.”  
  
Lance gives in to the urge to squeeze his hand, infusing every bit of confidence he possesses into the promise. “It’s gonna be okay.”

 

 

######  _FRIENDS_

 

Lance splashes water over his face, washing away all the suds from the deep cleanser. He’s been awake for over thirty-six hours and it doesn’t matter how tired he is, the pale, oily state of his skin is going to stress him out too much to sleep if he doesn’t take care of it. He’s only halfway through the line of bottles and jars he laid out with loving precision, but the familiar routine is soothing and it’s helping him sort through his thoughts.  
  
Other-Shiro - Ro, as they’ve decided to call him for now - spent most of the day enduring dozens of tests and scans and rounds of questions, trying to give Pidge, Hunk, and Allura some groundwork to start investigating where he came from and if he’s a danger to the team, unwilling or not. Keith went to help Shiro set up a new room and then escaped to the training deck for the rest of the day when Shiro decided to take a nap. Coran flitted in and out, checking in on all of them between the unending list of tasks he has to do around the castle, and Lance...  
  
Lance paced up and down the hallways feeling useless. He brought everyone lunch when it rolled around even though his own stomach was too twisted up to swallow more than a couple of bites; he fetched things for Hunk and Pidge and Coran whenever they asked; he sorted through like three _dozen_ files of Coalition updates and reports. So, you know, he wasn’t _actually_ useless, he just feels like he was.  
  
He shuts off the faucet and picks up the towel he keeps by the sink, patting his face dry and staring at himself in the mirror. He certainly _looks_ tired, that’s for sure. And lost. Confused.  
  
Not surprising.  
  
His head’s a mess, tangled up and twisted around. He would never have expected to find out that the Shiro they found wasn’t _Shiro_ ; never would have expected for the real Shiro to _come back_ ; never have expected to find himself in a room with both of them and feel the same rush-desire- _need_ in his chest for both of them.  
  
But the problem with clones is that no one would be stupid enough to waste that kind of technology _(magic?)_ on an average person. If you’re going to make more of someone you want someone special, someone extraordinary. Lance isn’t a starry-eyed ten-year-old, lovingly tacking a glossy poster of the Garrison’s youngest fighter pilot graduate to his wall, anymore, but he’s not stupid. You can’t get much more extraordinary than Shiro.  
  
And now there’s two of them. Sort of. He just doesn’t know what to _do_ about it.  
  
He’s just about to start applying the next product off the counter when the faint sound of someone knocking on his door drifts into his ears. He sets the bottle down and heads into his bedroom, shrugging into a shirt before answering the door.  
  
It’s Shiro, hands in his pockets and a tiny, friendly smile on his face. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey,” Lance says, and he’s confused and surprised but there’s also a deep sense of pleasure curling contentedly in his chest that Shiro has come to see him. At this point he doesn’t even care what for. Lance steps to the side a bit to make a path. “You wanna come in?”  
  
“Yeah, thanks,” Shiro nods, stepping inside. The door closes at his back and he takes a look around the room before coming to a stop on Lance. “Hey,” he says again, soft. “How you holding up?”  
  
Lance snorts. “I think I should be asking _you_ that.” He walks backwards until his calves hit the edge of his bed and he sits down, patting the mattress in a “come sit, too” gesture. “You’re the one who’s been floating around - _disembodied_ I might add - in a mechanical space cat’s brain for the last few months. _I’m_ fine.”  
  
Shiro smiles a bit and sinks down next to him, _right_ next to him - his thigh is warm and firm and, and... _distracting_ \- and leans back on his palms and tips his head toward the ceiling, letting out a slow, calming sigh. “I slept most of the day away but I still feel exhausted. Like I’ve barely slept in weeks.” His face screws up. “I guess I haven’t, have I?”  
  
Lance turns away, hunching over and staring down at the floor between his knees. _That_ is more than he can stand to think about right now, too confusing and heartbreaking and he’s just too tired. “How’s—” He stops, clears his throat around the lump that’s been wedged in there since landing back in the hanger. Tries again. “How’s Ro? Have you seen him?”  
  
Shiro’s brow furrows and he heaves himself forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “He’s... okay, I think. I only saw him in passing on my way out of the kitchen. It was kind of hard for me to read him, strangely enough.” His mouth twists in a wry grimace.  
  
“Well,” Lance shrugs, “I guess it’s not like you see your own face very much.”  
  
“Not until now, anyway,” Shiro says, ducking his head and running his flesh hand through his hair. “Guess I’d better start getting used to it.”  
  
Lance’s heart throbs. He wishes he could offer some reassurance - like Shiro and Keith’s hand-shoulder-squeeze thing, or something - but what do you even  _say_ about something like this? It’s not like there’s a pamphlet on “ _How to Comfort Your Friend-Slash-Leader-Slash-Crush Who’s Been Tortured By Aliens and Now Has a Clone_.” But quiznaking _hell_ , he has to say _something_. “Shiro... I know this has got to be really awful and confusing and, just, _messed up_ for you but. It’s not his fault. He didn’t _know_.” And that’s not at all what he meant to say, but he’s not about to take it back, either. It’s _true_ , painfully so.

Shiro sighs, deep and weary and shoulders sagging. “I know, Lance. I know.”  
  
“He could probably use a friend,” Lance tries, tentative and cautious. “Someone who can maybe understand what he’s been through?” He knows he’s asking a lot but...  But Shiro is the only one besides Lance who’s been anything better than cautiously distant toward Ro since discovering the truth. 

And, well, up until the whole “being a clone” bit, there’s probably no one else in the universe who can relate to Ro better.  
  
Shiro frowns at the floor, throat bobbing with what looks like a painful swallow, and nods. “I’ll... I’ll think about it,” he says, back muscles scrunching up tight for a moment before he straightens, setting his shoulders and turning to Lance with a focused, intense look in his eyes. “I actually came here to ask you something. Something I wanted to ask _before_ but never got the chance to.”  
  
Lance nods, squirming a bit under Shiro’s gaze - why is his heart beating so hard? - and straightens as well. “Um, okay.”  
  
Shiro slowly stretches a hand out, brushing his fingers over Lance’s and wrapping around them, gentle and warm and strong, and Lance’s breath catches in his throat. “Can I kiss you?” Shiro asks.  
  
Everything stalls, stills; nothing else even _exists_ right now, probably. Lance can’t feel the air blowing out of the vents or the bed beneath his legs or even his heart pounding in his chest - he knows it’s racing, the haziness in his vision says so even if he can’t hear the blood rushing in his ears either. There’s just Shiro’s hand around his, Shiro’s eyes locked with his. _God_ , is he even _breathing_ anymore?

“...What?” he asks, weak and shaking.    
  
Shiro’s mouth curves into a smile, a smirk even, maybe. “I said, ‘Can I kiss you?’” he repeats.

Lance can only stare at him for a long, shocked minute, dissecting that from every angle to try and make it make sense. Because it doesn’t make sense, why would _Shiro_ want to kiss _Lance_. So he asks. “Why?”

Shiro’s smile softens a bit, a wry tilt to his lips while his gaze turns warm. “If I’m honest, I thought about using thanking you for finding me as an excuse, but mostly it’s just because I want to. I’ve wanted to for awhile.”

“I— I see,” Lance says, trailing off, mesmerized by the amused-hopeful- _fond_ look in his eyes. He hasn’t seen Shiro look like that - like he’s practically bursting with emotion, but still trying to tamp it down, keep it under control - since, well. Since ever. Because it’s not Shiro who’s been with them the last few months, it’s been Ro. And Ro has never cared that he’s got his heart on his sleeve, didn’t care that all his emotions being written on his face makes Lance’s chest ache.  
  
And - quiznack - he didn’t plan for this, he couldn’t have. Lance didn’t want to have these feelings for two different people. He didn’t even realize he _did_. He just _kept_  feeling for the same person, watched him change as their lives changed, and his affections and frustrations changed along with them.  
  
It’s a swirling, chaotic, unbearably hot mess in his head and what is he supposed to _do?_  
  
Shiro is still looking at him, eyes brimming with hope and expectancy and _affection_ , and Lance is stuck wondering how the hell is he supposed to _choose?_ Because, really, how can he possibly when they’re both - they’re... _Them_.  
  
There’s Shiro: Heroic and compassionate and just a little bit distant. He’s their kind and powerful leader with a playful side like groundhogs - popping up in little flashes when he feels safe, but otherwise hidden. He’s inspiring and tenacious but so, so afraid. Afraid of failure, afraid of being broken and useless, afraid of lightning and the color purple and shadowed hoods and of being restrained. He’s admirable and strong and human, and the more he’s hid himself, the more he’s tried to be the perfect, faultless, fearless leader, the more Lance has wanted to peel back the layers, climb over the walls, see inside. Every little glimpse of that squishy, dorky, softly glowing heart makes Lance fall harder, fall deeper, want fiercer.  
  
And Ro: So grim, so stern; a fearsome strategist with risky, brilliant plans that never fail. They trust him, _Lance_ trusts him, and he’s never let them down, never asked of them anything that he didn’t firmly believe they were capable of. He’s never hidden his unattractive sides from them, lets them see his anger and irritation and pain. He’s harder to get along with, but so much easier to understand, to relate to, to know the heart of, than Shiro. But the rough edges and spines make it just as hard to get close to him as Shiro’s walls do and Lance is desperate to rub them smooth, pull them apart, help him retract the barbs and soften. He wants inside Ro’s sea urchin heart just as much as he wants inside Shiro’s fortress.  
  
_God_ , how he would do anything for those two. They’re not the same, they have different experiences and memories and personalities now; they’re becoming more distinct, more separate, more unique.  
  
But Lance loves them equally. Loves them for different reasons, but loves them the same.  
  
And that means he can’t do this.  
  
Lance inhales slowly, deeply - trying to wrangle up the fortitude to say what he has to say - and rotates his wrist so he can hold Shiro’s hand in his and squeeze. “Shiro, I— I _can’t_.  
  
Shiro keeps looking at him steadily, patiently, rubs his thumb across Lance’s and asks, “How come?”  
  
“Because I like you both,” Lance says, pausing to swallow around the tightness in his throat. “I like you both and I can’t choose between the two of you because I feel the same way about both of you. I can’t— I can’t be with you. It wouldn’t be fair to you when I have feelings for someone else, too.”  
  
Shiro’s eyes are roving over his face, maybe trying to figure out how serious he is, and slowly - _painfully_ \- he pulls his hand away from Lance’s touch. He nods, expression neutral. “I see,” he says, so quiet Lance can barely hear him.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Lance whispers, praying his voice isn’t as watery as it sounds.  
  
Shiro smiles at him then, soft and kind even as his eyes are dim with disappointment. “You can’t help how you feel.”  
  
Lance doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if he _should_ say anything. Just bites down on his lip and breathes silently through his nose.  
  
He fell in love with two different people and he can’t be with either of them.  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
Shiro runs a hand over the back of his head, sighing quietly, and then pushes himself up from the bed and stands. “I— I should go,” he says, a little bit awkward, and turns to look down at Lance with another one of those kind, sweet smiles. He bends down - the proximity, the taste of _more,_ making Lance’s heart _ache_ \- and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment. “Thanks for bringing me back,” he murmurs.    
  
And that just— that _hurts_. It hurts, caring about both of them so much when they’re both so kind and understanding and he still has to let them go.  
  
Lance’s lip wobbles and the tears he’s been holding back fall free and he buries his face in his hands and sobs.  
  
Shiro drops down onto his knees, wrapping his arms around Lance’s shoulders and rubbing his hand up and down Lance’s back, murmuring reassurances. “Ah, Lance, please don’t cry. It’s alright. I’m sad, a little disappointed even, but not with you. Please don’t cry.”  
  
He wishes the gentle words were a comfort, but they’re not and it’s several long minutes before Lance can pull himself together and keep his face dry for more than a few seconds. He sniffs, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve, and tries to smile even as his lip trembles and a few more tears leak free. “Sorry, I’m okay, really.”  
  
Shiro is radiating concern, but he just nods and gives Lance’s shoulders one more brisk rub and a squeeze before letting go and rocking back on his heels. “Alright. I should probably let you get some sleep.”  
  
Lance nods, wrapping his arms around himself. “Yeah.”  
  
Shiro’s brow is still furrowed, but he nods again and stands, pausing at the door to look over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Lance,” he says, so quiet Lance almost misses it, and then he’s gone, the door sliding shut with a quiet snick behind him.  
  
Lance inhales, holds the air in his lungs as long as he can, and lets it out slowly, steadily, and then flops over onto his side. Tears prick at his eyes again and he rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow and swallowing back a sob.    
  
What is he even supposed to be thinking right now? Feeling? Shiro is back and Ro is his clone and Shiro _kissed him_. He’s never even let himself _dream_ of Shiro being interested in him back, but his forehead is still tingling with proof that he _is_  but it doesn’t even _matter_ because he _can’t_. He can’t be with either of them and it aches. 

There are worse things that could happen than him not being with either of the people he cares about, Lance knows that. He’ll be okay. Eventually. But just for tonight he’s going to let himself be miserable.  
  
He’ll put on a brave face tomorrow.

 

 

######  _COLD_

 

Four phoebs of the Altean calendar go by before they find the base Ro came from. Pidge has spent every spare hour she has tracking it down, scouring the data they’ve collected from hacking into the Galra system for intel on Haggar’s experiments. Because, honestly, who else could be responsible for a Shiro-clone showing up just weeks after the original disappeared?  
  
It was almost three months before they’d stumbled across the first mention of “Operation Kuron,” barely more than a notation among terabytes of logs on the ship he escaped from.

  
_  
(“They must have really dug around in my head to get that out,” Shiro said, mouth twisted in a grimace.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Keith asked._

_“It’s the word for ‘clone’ in Japanese,” Ro choked out, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut; his was voice strangled, raw. “I guess she didn’t feel the need to be subtle.”)_

  
  
Having a specific project to research made things easier in a way - they knew what they were looking for - but actually finding any information on the elusive operation turned out to be damn near impossible. Everything was heavily encrypted and often written in what they assumed was Haggar’s personal code for recording her most secret experiments. It seemed like everywhere they turned was a dead end, nothing but senseless gibberish and vague references for week after frustrating week.  
  
But finally, _finally_ , they got a solid lead - the ID number of what _had_ to be the home of the clone operation - and then all that was left was finding it.

Two quintants later they’ve tracked it down to a planet-side Galra base meant for restocking; they’ve got ten vargas to fly down to the surface in the cloaked Green lion, hike to and enter the base, download the intel, and get out before another ship is supposed to arrive and make the place far busier and harder to navigate.  
  
Piece of cake.  
  
Pidge sets down in a massive clearing a couple of miles from the base. They’ll have to walk the rest of the way and sneak in, hopefully avoiding alerting the Galra to their presence.  
  
Lance walks down Green’s ramp, rifle in hand, and looks around with blatant curiosity. The planet orbits a very young star, pale and weak and illuminating the earth with soft, white light. This far north the land is mostly uninhabited, the sentient, nomadic natives currently down south in warmer climates.  
  
The majority of the continent is forested, skinny trees with rough bark that stretch toward the heavens with a layer of loose detritus scattered over the damp loam at their feet. What’s weird about them is their foliage. It’s pink. Rich, vivid pink, like the heart of a magnolia blossom. Most of the trees are dying with the coming of winter and the ground is scattered with dead leaves so dark they’re almost purple. It’s a sharp contrasts to the black earth and brown trunks, a bright, clean color in the pale dawn.  
  
But what really catches Lance’s attention is the floating lights. He can’t figure out where they’re coming from - or what they _are_ for that matter. Spores? - they just drift around in sunbeams and along the lazy breezes meandering through the forest. They’re small enough to fit in the palm of his hand and glow with a dull and hazy bluish-white light. And they’re cold. Freezing cold.

So, maybe not spores.

Admittedly, Lance is usually more of a beach person, but this place is still breathtaking.  
  
Shiro comes up beside him, his boots clanging on Green’s ramp before shifting to a dull thump as he steps down onto the ground. He draws in a deep breath through his nose of the crisp, cold air and lets it out with a contented sigh. “I wish I had a camera. Ro would love to see this.”  
  
Lance tips his face up toward the crystal blue sky, imagining their bulky, temperamental strategist chasing after the drifting orbs of light with quiet, childlike glee and letting fuchsia leaves rain down through his fingers. Yeah, he really would. “Then I guess we’ll just have to come back someday,” he says, lips curving in a gentle smile.  
  
Shiro grins. “Sounds like a date.”  
  
_Wait… What?_  

Lance whips his head around, eyes wide and heart tripping in his chest. He can’t mean what Lance thinks he means. “What?”  
  
Shiro’s grin shifts into a smirk, sly and knowing, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Ro and I have been talking,” he starts, “spending time together, just the two of us. We’ve gotten... close.”  
  
Lance nods slowly, unsure where Shiro’s going with this. “Yeah, I know. You’ve been attached at the hip lately, like you’re twins or something.”  
  
Shiro’s eyes sparkle, bright and amused. “Or something,” he says, shrugging, but with a knowing look that would be more familiar on Ro’s increasingly-mischievous face than his own.  
  
Lance’s brain short circuits, there’s no other way to describe it, mouth falling open in shock. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says, throwing his hand up and waving it in a stop-right-there motion. “ _What?_ You? And Ro? You’re like... _Really?_ ”  
  
Shiro nods, still grinning. “Yeah, really. I know, it’s kind of bizarre... like, really bizarre, but...” He shrugs. “He makes me happy.”  
  
“That’s...” Lance stops, a tempest swirling in his head. On the one hand, he’s happy for them. The two people he cares about most, two people who have gone through _hell_ , have found someone who can understand that pain and that thrills him. Really. He can see how the two of them could fit together, help each other, be good for one another. But...  
  
But.  
  
Lance wrenches out a smile from _somewhere_ , some deep depths of reserved cheer he didn’t know he had, and pastes it on his face as sincerely as he can. “That’s _great_ , Shiro, really great. Definitely a little weird at first glance, but I’m glad. For both of you.”  
  
Shiro’s answering smile is steady and calm, but there’s still amusement dancing in his eyes and Lance can’t figure out _why_.

“We’re both still interested in you, you know,” Shiro says. Casual. Blasé. Like it’s not the second largest bomb ever dropped on any conversation Lance has ever had _and_ _while_ _he’s_ _still_ _recovering_ _from_ _the_ _first_. “As soon as we get a day off we should come back here together, all three of us.” He reaches out and chucks a finger lightly under Lance’s chin, eyes swimming with fondness, and then he’s striding off into the forest while Lance stands there blinking stupidly after him.  
  
Again. What?

“He’s asking you to go on a date, stupid,” Pidge says, appearing at his elbow and making Lance nearly jump out of his skin. “ _They’re_ asking you on a date.”  
  
“So I’m not imagining any of that?” Lance asks, still trying to wrap his head around what just happened.  
  
“Nope,” Pidge says, popping the “p.”  
  
Lance nods slowly, turning back to face the edge of the forest where Shiro disappeared. “Okay. Good to know.”  
  
Pidge nudges an elbow into his side, right where the armor plate gives way to soft flight suit, and then heads off after Shiro.  
  
Hunk’s arms are suddenly wrapping around him from behind, squeezing him in a bone-crushing hug. “Finally!” he crows. “The UST and the moping was getting so bad I thought I was going to have to bake you a cake that said ‘They want to date you’ by the end of the week.”  
  
Lance huffs. “Thanks Hunk, you’re a great friend.”  
  
Hunk shrugs. “Yeah, I know.” He sets Lance down and pats him on the head, and then he, too, is heading toward the wood.  
  
“I’m really not dreaming?” Lance mumbles. He’d resigned himself to being in love but alone months ago, ever since that night when Shiro asked to kiss him. He’d spent days wondering if he’d made a mistake, wondering if Shiro’s feelings for him were a sign that Ro felt the same and then squashing it down because it didn’t matter. He couldn’t be with both of them, it was impossible to choose between them, and even if he could it wouldn’t be fair when his heart still thrummed for Shiro _and_ Ro.

But now Shiro is saying they want him _and_ each other? All three of them together? It’s too perfect, too easy. There’s a spark of hope surging to life inside of him, desperate for this to be real, but there has to be a catch somewhere and Lance can’t crush the knot of dread curling in his belly.  
  
“You’re not dreaming,” Allura says, one hand on her hip and curling the other around one of the lights drifting by. “But we _do_ have a mission to complete so you’d best ‘get your head on’ as you humans say.”  
  
Lance nods, a flash of Ro’s broken expression at the dining room table flitting through his head and making him straighten.  
  
Time to go to work.

 

 

######  _WARMTH_

 

“I’ve got it! I’ve got the intel!” Pidge shouts. 

“Are you sure?” Hunk asks.

“If this isn’t everything I’ll cut off my left foot,” Pidge answers, voice still ringing with excitement.

Lance chuckles, but keeps his gaze firmly on the end of the hallway, on the lookout for sentries and soldiers coming his way.

“No victory maiming, please,” Shiro says, ever the responsible leader, but Lance can hear the way he’s biting back a smile.

Pidge huffs. “Spoilsport. Give me thirty ticks to get all of this downloaded and then we can split.”

“Copy that,” Shiro says, and Lance starts backing toward the server room Pidge is camped in, mentally preparing for a hasty but sneaky exit back outside.

Everything goes smoothly for once; Pidge gets the intel onto a chip in her armor and they sneak their way out of the base, following Ro’s directions from where he’s monitoring them on the castleship. If the Galra are aware that they’ve just been infiltrated by Voltron they’re not making much of a fuss about it.

They hike back to the Green Lion as fast as they can, intent on getting to the castle and sorting through the intel, but Lance can’t help but marvel at how beautiful the forest is at night. The sun has already set - this planet is a lot smaller than Earth - and it’s freezing out, the frosty air nipping at his exposed nose and cheeks. The floating orbs are glowing softly, casting everything around them in a gentle, cold light, and shadows dance slowly over the ground and the trees as the lights drift up toward the sky, mirroring the starry expanse above them.

Yeah. They definitely have to come back here.

Coran is waiting for them in Green’s hanger back on the castleship and he jumps to help Allura, Pidge, and Hunk when they immediately move to start looking through the data, not even pausing to take off their helmets. Ro is strangely absent.

“Lance.”

Lance turns and sees Shiro watching him, arms crossed and lips curled in a tiny smile. “Yeah?” Lance asks.

Shiro gestures toward the hanger doorway with his head. “Come on.” And he turns and walks away.

Lance’s brow furrows, but he dutifully follows behind. Shiro is silent as he leads them through the halls, his expression relaxed, but his flesh fingers keep drumming against the metal of his right bicep. Is he nervous?

They ride up the elevator to the living quarters, the thrum of the ship vibrating dully through Lance’s boots. He picks at a speck of dirt smeared on the glistening white chest panel of his armor, wishing Shiro would say something and break the awkward, anticipatory tension hanging between them. Lance has barely been able to look at him since that moment on Green’s ramp, let alone speak. Most of him is still living in abject denial of what Shiro said, or at least the implications of what he said.

Lance can be oblivious at the weirdest times, he knows that. He never would have guessed that Shiro and Ro were… were _together_ without being told. But now that he looks back on it, thinks over how their relationship has changed over the last few months, he can see it. And it’s a little weird, sure, but it’s also really sweet. The two of them can understand each other better than anyone else could ever hope to. They’ve got a connection with one another that Lance doesn’t think he could ever compete with; they speak in sync half the time and anticipate what the other will say the other half; they like the same foods and music and movies; either one of them on their own is nearly unstoppable in battle and together they form an omniscient, harmonious synergy that is equal parts breathtaking and monstrously intimidating. If Lance weren’t on their side they’d be terrifying.

And… they care about each other. All of them can see it. Lance wasn’t exaggerating when he’d said they were practically attached at the hip; if you’re looking for one of them you’re almost guaranteed to find both, shoulders brushing and gazes gravitating toward one another. Lance had thought it was because they’d found someone who was usually thinking the same thing as themselves, that they’d gotten into the habit of looking each other’s way because they knew the other would laugh at the same jokes, smile at the same antics of the team, be concerned over the same flaws in a mission plan, or be ready to head to bed around the same time. And all of that is true, but when Lance looks at it a little more closely he realizes that there’s a softness around them now, a deep well of trust and affection brimming in their eyes when they turn to one another.

If they’re not already half in love with each other then Lance may have to join Pidge in her foot chopping.

And the thing is, even if they aren’t in love yet, there’s no way they won’t be. Shiro and Ro are good for each other, perfect for each other in a weird way. Why would they ever even consider including Lance?

He stumbles out of his thoughts when he realizes they’ve stopped in front of Shiro’s room, Shiro looking down at him curiously for a brief moment before he lays his hand on the access panel. The door slides open and Shiro glides through, gaze falling instantly to where Ro is sitting on his bed, resting against the wall with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head tipped back, eyes closed.

“Hey,” Shiro says, quiet in deference to the stillness pervading the room. He takes a moment to shed his armor and then crawls up onto the bed, reaching out to run his flesh hand through Ro’s hair. “We’re both here. You doing okay?”

Ro’s lips curl in a strange smile, a little content and a little bitter - if such an expression is even possible. “I can’t decide if I want to see any of it,” he says, voice raw and broken and almost unbearably honest. “Whatever they put in me. Part of me just wants it gone without ever knowing.”

Lance’s throat tightens, fingers clenching, and he fights the urge to back silently out of the room. He feels like he shouldn’t be here, listening to them being so vulnerable and open; it feels like he’s intruding.

But Shiro brought him here, so it must be okay. Right?

Shiro just nods in understanding, even if Ro isn’t looking, and shifts to sit down next to him, wrapping his Galra arm around Ro’s waist. Ro leans into him, resting his head on Shiro’s shoulder before he finally opens his eyes and looks right at Lance.

Lance freezes, caught in his gaze and wondering if this is the moment when he’s going to get kicked out. For butting in. For listening to things he has no right to hear. For intruding in their space.

But Ro just watches him for a long moment, calm and relaxed, before stretching out his hand and turning his palm up in a silent gesture to come closer.

He should say no, should turn his head and walk out and let them be together. Lance is self-aware enough to know most people think he’s clingy and annoying and he knows even Shiro and Ro’s patience could wear out; they’ll get sick of him eventually. But he’s cared about them for so long that the chance to be here, to be a source of comfort and reassurance - even if it doesn’t last long - is too good to pass up. They’ll kindly and graciously ask him to leave sooner or later, but Lance can enjoy it while it lasts, can’t he?

He takes a minute to pull off the plates of his armor, setting them on the floor until all that’s left is the flexible flight suit, and then lets himself be drawn forward, drawn closer by the irresistible pull they have always had on him, and lays his hand in Ro’s and climbs into the bed. It takes some awkward shuffling for them to get comfortable; the bed isn’t really meant for three grown men, but they make it work. Lance sits sideways between Shiro’s legs, curling against his chest and resting his forehead in the hollow of Shiro’s neck. Ro stays folded up at Shiro’s side, wrapped in his arm, but he holds out his hand and Lance tangles their fingers together, warm and calloused and grasping tightly.

Lance takes in a slow, deep breath and lets it out, settling firmly into place - Shiro’s arm around his back and Ro’s legs against his. He’s pretty sure this won’t last long, that even if Shiro was sincere in his request and Hunk was right too, that they’ll change their minds. But for now, just for this moment, he’s content and happy and welcomed and there’s no reason to disturb the peacefulness. Not yet.

 

 

######  _WAR_

 

They stay like that until Allura calls for them over the intercom, a ship-wide call to come to the medical facilities. They untangle from their quiet, snuggly ball and Shiro and Lance both stop by their rooms to change out of their flight suits and into regular clothes before heading down a couple levels.

The others are waiting for them in the infirmary. Pidge and Coran are darting around adjusting the settings on some of the machines and checking the readings on the holographic monitor hovering over the bed they have set up. Hunk is seated on another bed, kicking his heels and swiping his finger over a data pad, and Allura is standing off to the side with her hands folded in front of her.

They all look up as the three of them come in, smiling or waving in greeting before the three tech and mechanic experts go back to what they’re doing. They all look pale.

“How are you feeling, Ro?” Allura asks, and the gentle, concerned look on her face is surprising. She’s been civil with Ro the last few months, respectful, but still so cautious and hesitant to be his friend again, not while they still didn’t know what they were dealing with. Her change of heart isn’t making Lance as happy as he’d thought it would; mostly it’s making him uneasy.

Ro shrugs, moving slightly closer to Shiro, and Shiro brushes the tips of their fingers together in a soothing caress, so quick Lance almost misses it. They must have done that dozens of times by now, comforting each other subtly and silently when the other was nervous or uncertain.

He really is oblivious.

“Ready to find out how much they messed with my head,” Ro says in answer to Allura’s question. His voice is strong and steady despite the way he’s leaning into Shiro’s broad strength, and Lance never would have known how hard that was for him to say if he hadn’t been there to see him shaking for the last few hours over the decision.

“I guess that’s where I come in,” Pidge says, punching a few last commands into the machine she’s crouched in front of. She stands up, adjusting her glasses from where they’ve slipped down her nose, and grabs her data pad, opening up a schematic of Ro’s arm. It’s dissected into hundreds of parts all hovering closely together in a vaguely arm-shaped form, but far enough apart to identify the different components. Pidge taps at a couple of them, highlighting them in bright purple, and then zooms in on them until they fill up the screen.

“I’ll try to keep the tech speak to a minimum, but this is all pretty complicated,” Pidge says. “Feel free to let me know if I’m losing you.” She pauses, waiting for Ro to nod before continuing. “As far as I can tell there’s only two parts we need to worry about. The one on the left is a beacon. It’s not actually turned on right now, it needs a particular code to be inputed first, so I think it’s meant for emergencies. It can be turned on by someone else who’s trying to find you or you can activate yourself, though I’m not exactly sure how.”

Ro’s brow furrows. “Why would I ever want to turn it on?”

“That’s where the rest of this comes in,” Pidge says, gesturing at the data pad where she’s propped it up on a nearby table. “The computer in your arm is mostly for relaying the signals between your arm and your brain, storing and running the commands for movement, minor sensory input, and for activating the quintessence-aura weapon. Those commands are always active, always turned on and don’t need any outside interference to function; you think and it happens. The rest of the programming and hardware is the unnecessary and ugly stuff we want to get rid of but we have to separate it out without messing up any of the other coding, otherwise your arm won’t work.”

“Okay,” Ro nods. “Makes sense so far.”

“What’s the other part aside from the tracker that you’re worried about?” Shiro asks.

Pidge pulls off her glasses and rubs at her eyes. “I’m getting there, but it’s related to the remaining coding.” She taps at the pad, pulling up the schematic of the other component she’d highlighted earlier. “The other codes in the computer are activated by this - it’s a transponder strong enough to send and receive signals from just about anywhere in the universe.”

“What kind of signals?” Lance asks, stomach churning. He had known this wasn’t going to be a fun conversation, known whatever they found probably wasn’t going to be good, but this is harder than he expected.

“Suggestions, mostly,” Pidge says, gaze apologetic. “They’re meant to influence decision making and heighten negative emotions. The codes stored in the data banks that need to be remotely activated are pretty vague and mostly innocuous. They’re the only ones that were used for the first few months you were here.” She directs the last bit straight to Ro, leaning back against the bed and crossing her arms. “It’s why you were basically the same as Shiro, just with a hair-trigger temper and a few more reckless tendencies. It was like they were trying to make you as uncooperative and antagonistic as they could without making us think you were a different person.”

Ro nods again, brow furrowed as he mulls it over for a minute. “What else?”

“We had to do some digging - this was buried pretty deep, but we found a record of every code that’s been used and when, right down to the tick. There were dozens of them that aren’t saved in the arm’s database for regular use, ones that are much more specific. The first one came at Naxela and the second on the day we were contacted by Zarkon for the exchange of Lotor and my dad.”

Lance freezes, eyes widening at the implication. Ro had made them stay on planet when Shiro would have made their safety his highest priority. Ro had given the black bayard to Lotor without telling anyone, a risk none of them thought Shiro was capable of taking without getting everyone’s agreement. Lance’s gaze darts over to Ro.

He’s got a hand over his eyes, shoulders slumped, and Shiro rushes to get a chair underneath him and help him sit down. He hunches over his knees, face in his hands.

“Do you need a minute?” Shiro asks, soft and just for him.

Ro shakes his head, voice tight and exhausted when he speaks. “No, let’s just get this over with.”

Pidge takes a look around the room at everyone else, probably waiting for someone to protest, but no one does. Her lips press together in an unhappy line but she continues. “Those external codes are still only suggestions, though highly specific and extremely powerful ones. You’re not a robot, they couldn’t _make_ you do anything, only encourage, plant ideas in your head and give you very strong urges to follow them. They kept that up along with the more vague suggestions right up until the Kral Zera, but they’ve stopped completely since then. The emotional manipulators are still active, though.”

Shiro is rubbing his hand up and down Ro’s back, a frown etched on his features. “Is there anything else?”

Pidge nods, reluctant and worn out. “Two things. Three, sort of. I’m pretty sure your body isn’t entirely human.”

Lance’s stomach sinks like a stone, and he sees Shiro freeze, but it’s Ro’s reaction that makes his throat tighten.

He laughs, bitter and resigned - a twisted, mangled thing that doesn’t resemble joy in any way. “Why am I not surprised?”

Hunk is swiping at his eyes, cheeks wet and flushed, and Allura and Coran both look sickened. They all probably knew this already, they all helped with going through the intel, but it must be twice as awful to hear it out loud, to watch Ro take it in.

Pidge pulls her glasses off completely and sets them aside, rubbing at her eyes again. “The transponder can send out a live video feed if the right request is sent in. The human brain records everything you see automatically, but the only way for that information to get transferred to a digital format that can be sent out is if there’s a mechanical component somewhere, probably in your eyes.”

“She’s been watching us,” Shiro says, and his eyes are hard, dark, the words spat out between grit teeth.

Pidge nods. “Yeah, probably. Just one last thing, and then we can take a break. There’s a kill switch, basically, it’s just… it’s not meant to kill _you_.”

Silence rings throughout the room for a long moment and then Ro sighs. “All of you?” he asks, quiet and shaky and heart-breakingly small.

“Yeah,” Pidge says, just as quiet. “A last resort, considering the risk. A command to take us all out and off yourself if you failed.”

Ro nods, running a hand through his hair and processing it all for a long minute. “Can you get it out?” he asks. “Everything?”

“I can’t do anything about your eyes, obviously, if you want be able to see, but I can shut off the recording-and-sending-it-off-to-Haggar part of it. As for everything else...” Pidge trails off, glancing at Hunk before turning back and nodding, firm and decisive. “Yes.”

Ro nods in return. “Okay. That’s what matters. What do I need to do?”

Allura steps forward and beckons him over to the bed they have laid out, piled with pillows and blankets so it looks more like a place to take a nap than to have a procedure done. “We’ll have to sedate you for a couple of hours,” she explains. “It could be painful to disconnect and remove everything if you were awake. Is that alright with you?”

Ro rubs a hand up the back of his head, nervousness and exhaustion rolling off of him in waves, but he nods. “Yeah.” He glances over at Shiro with a pleading look in his eye.

Shiro strides over and grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’ll be right here waiting for you. Lance, too.” He turns and grabs hold of Lance’s hand and tugs him close so they’re both crowded together at Ro’s side.

Lance is almost too stunned to speak, still blown away by how quickly and easily they’re pulling him in, of their eagerness to include him, but he nods in agreement. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

 

######  _PEACE_

 

It’s almost six varga before it’s over, all the malicious programming erased from Ro’s arm forever along with any hope Haggar has of controlling him. They’re all scattered around his bed in the infirmary waiting for him to wake up.

Shiro’s got one hand wrapped tightly around Lance’s, squeezing his fingers every few minutes - though whether it’s to reassure Lance or to ground himself, Lance doesn’t know - and the other resting lightly in Ro’s. His foot has been tapping relentlessly against the floor for the last twenty dobashes.

Lance can’t stop from looking between the two of them - Ro, relaxed and calm; Shiro, pinched and restless - and thinking how grateful he is that the two of them have each other.

Something on the monitor spikes, sending out a cheerful tone, and Coran moves to examine it. “Ah, that’s good then. He should be waking up in a dobash or two.” He flicks through a few things on the holographic screen and then waves it away so it’s not hanging in the air over the bed.

Hunk and Pidge get up from where they’d been lounging and crowd around, leaving no side of the bed unoccupied when Ro’s eyelids flutter open a minute later.

He blinks rapidly a few times, gazing around at them blearily before coming to a stop on Lance and Shiro. His lips curve in a smile. “Hey,” he croaks, voice gravelly.

Allura hands over a cup of water and Shiro helps Ro get the straw into his mouth. They wait for him to take a few sips and relax back into the pillows before talking again.

“How ya feeling?” Lance asks.

Ro’s brow furrows in thought for a moment and then his eyes widen like he’s had some kind of revelation. “It’s so quiet,” he says, soft, awed.

“What do you mean?” Pidge asks, jumping up and scrambling for her data pad. “Did we damage the connections to your hearing or something?”

“No, no, I can hear fine,” Ro says, waving a hand around to dispel her worrying. “I meant in my head. I didn’t realize it before but… it was so noisy. Like… television static and angry whispering.” He rests his head back against the pillow, eyes closed and a beatific smile on his face. “It’s so quiet now. Peaceful.”

He looks so relaxed, so content - none of the tension and irritation that’s always lurked in his eyes and his frame remaining - and now that it’s gone Lance doesn’t know how he’d never noticed it before. Tears of relief prick at his eyes and he sniffles, letting go of Shiro’s hand so he can scrub at his face.

Shiro shuffles a little closer, brushing the back of his hand down Ro’s face until Ro opens his eyes. “You gonna let us give you a real name now?” he asks, the side of his mouth curved up in a smile.

Ro huffs and tips his head to rest it in Shiro’s palm. “You were gonna say ‘Ryou’ back then, right? Not much different from what I’ve already got, is it even worth changing?”

Shiro chuckles, his brow wrinkling in a light frown as he tugs at Ro’s earlobe. “Of course it is.”

Hunk clears his throat, not even bothering to look apologetic about cutting in to their little moment. “Care to share with the class?” he asks.

“Oh, sorry,” Shiro says, easing back into his chair, but keeping his hand wrapped around Ro’s. “‘Ryou’ was my imaginary best friend when I was a kid,” he explains. “It seemed appropriate.”

“If any of them butcher the pronunciation I’m going to be stuck with ‘Ro’ anyway,” Ro says dryly.

“Hey!” Pidge jumps up from her seat and points an imperious finger at Ro’s face. “That’s just plain rude! It’s your name, we’ll practice it until our tongues fall out if we have to until we get it right.”

Hunk nods vigorously and Allura steps forward to place a gentle hand on Ro’s leg. “I agree. If that is the name you desire then we must figure it out. Don’t refuse it if your only concern is our inability to say it correctly on the first few tries.”

Ro - _Ryou_ \- glances around at all of them, eyes wide, before he throws his head back and laughs. “I was _joking_ , guys, geez.” He turns to Shiro, grinning. “You need to lighten up more, they think we have no sense of humor.”

Shiro shakes his head, the smile on his face tinged with resignation. “I think you do well enough for the both of us, you never keep your mouth shut.”

“Probably,” Ryou grins.

“So is that what you’re going with?” Pidge asks. “Ryou? See! It’s not _that_ hard.”

Ryou nods. “Yeah, alright. Guess I am.”

“Finally!” Hunk shouts, throwing his arms up in the air. “I think this calls for a movie night. Or movie morning, I have no idea what time it is. I’m going to make some snacks!”

“A movie night sounds wonderful!” Allura says, clapping her hands together in front of her chest. “I’ll go get the lounge ready, we’ll want lots of blankets and pillows.”

“I’ll come too,” Pidge says, jogging after Hunk and Allura as they leave the infirmary.

Lance can hear them chattering to each other as they drift off down the hall and turns back to see Coran puttering around, cleaning up, and Ryou swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Shiro’s arm around his shoulder to steady him.

“You wanna get a shower before we’re all piled together for half the night?” Shiro asks.

Ryou chuckles, nodding. “Yeah. My legs are still a little wobbly from the anesthesia though, I might need some help.”

Shiro nods, pulling Ryou up onto his feet. “That’s fine, I’ll come with you.” He turns to Lance and gestures out toward the hall with his head. “Go on ahead, we’ll catch up in a bit.”

Lance nods, elbowing the mental image of the both of them naked, dripping, and scrubbing soap suds into each other’s hair aside; _not the time, lizard brain_. He leads the way out of the infirmary, giving Shiro and Ryou an awkward wave as they branch away toward the living quarters and he heads to the lounge.

Pidge is elbow deep in electronics, trying to set up a decent holographic projector so they don’t have to use the small communications monitor set in the wall. There’s already a reasonably monstrous-sized pile of bedding in the couch pit waiting for snuggling and Lance blinks as Allura comes in with another heaping armload. She dumps it on top and spins on her heel, apparently off to retrieve even more. At this rate there’ll be enough for everyone to have like three pillows all to themselves and half a dozen blankets.

Awesome.

Lance goes about layering the floor with the thickest blankets and lining the surrounding front of the circular couch with pillows for everyone to lean against, turning the pit into a plush, comfy nest. Hunk flits in and out, setting down trays of snacks and drinks all along the couch cushions so no one will have to get up to grab anything.

Eventually, Coran wanders in from cleaning up the infirmary, a couple of the space mice riding on his shoulders, and finds a comfortable spot to recline on the fringe of the circle. He seems to enjoy movie nights, appreciates the chance to take a break from the hundreds of tasks around the ship that need doing, but he still maintains a level of professional distance like he always does when Allura is around. Lance doesn’t think Coran will ever forget or relinquish his role as her protector and aide, no matter how much he’s also a bit of a second father to her.

Hunk is coming back with the last of the snacks and Pidge is pulling up the list of movies they have in the ship’s database when Ryou and Shiro finally show up, their hair still damp and ruffled. Allura drags them over to the pit and everyone dives in, shoving and shuffling against each other until they’ve all found a comfortable position.

Somehow, Lance ends up sandwiched between Ryou and Shiro, warm and tight and secure. Shiro is laying on his side, head on a pillow in Lance’s lap, and Ryou’s flesh arm is around Lance’s back, his hand on Shiro’s side and their fingers tangled together. They’re pressed in close on either side, neither of them shy about how it looks - the three of them snuggled up together.

Lance can’t even pay attention to the movie because he’s too busy trying to keep his heart under control, too busy _not freaking out, nope, definitely not_ about the two people he cares about most doing _this_ with _him_. It’s nerve-wracking, jittery-inducing, heart-pounding _perfection_.

But eventually exhaustion wins out. It’s been a long, stressful, emotional rollercoaster of a day, it’s probably something like two in the morning Earth-time, and Lance is beat. Dog tired. Tuckered out. Pooped.

Gross.

Did he mention he was tired? He’s really tired.

The movie’s some Altean epic with elegant, solemn music and it lulls Lance into a daze. He shakes his head every few minutes, hoping the generated force will give his eyelids enough energy to stay open. But his blinks are gradually getting longer and longer, everything going fuzzy around him.

Then there’s a hand on his face, cool and metallic and gentle, coaxing his head to tip to the side until it’s pillowed on something freaking _magical_ _,_ a soft, squishy, _warm_ thing that smells like soap and starlight. There’s no way he’s staying awake now.

 

 

######  _LOVE_

 

Lance wakes up slowly, unwilling to open his eyes and get dragged out of this warm, comfortable place he’s floating hazily in. Delicious, firm heat blocks him in on either side, there’s something soft and lightly scritchy underneath him, and he would give anything to stay here a bit longer.

When he finally works up the energy to open his eyes, he blinks blearily at the sight in front of him. He must still be dreaming. That’s why everything is so warm and soft and perfect.

Also, there’s no way Shiro would ever be cuddled up with him in the lounge nest, not a chance. And - _wait a minute_ \- are there… _three_ arms wrapped around his chest?

Lance rotates his head around slowly, carefully, desperate not to wake Shiro up, only to have to bite down on his lip to quell a squeak of surprise when he finds _Ryou_ spooned up against his back.

 _Both of them?!_ No. Nonononono. He’s got to still be dreaming. Lance grips a miniscule sliver of skin between thumb and forefinger and _twists_.

Nothing happens except a flare of sparking pain in his thigh.

Oh.

Okay. So he’s not dreaming. Still, there’s no way either of them would be okay with this if they were awake. Movie night team cuddling is one thing, but, probably, they both just thought _he_ was _them_ and octopused around him by mistake. He’ll do them both a favor by extracting himself from this situation before they have to give awkward, embarrassed apologies for invading his personal space. Not that Lance _minds_ , of course, but-

Extracting. He’s extracting himself from this. Right now.

Lance reaches down to try and gently pry both of their arms from around his waist and chest, finagling his own arms around within the tight cocoon they’ve created until he can get a palm around Shiro’s wrist. But the second he starts pulling, pushing, prodding, _anything_ on either one of them, they squeeze him tighter. The fleshy cage around him cinches, binding him between them in a hot, muscle-y, _awesome_ imitation of a boa constrictor or that trash compactor room in Star Wars.

Lance may die, but he’ll die happily.

He’s on the verge of giving up, of allowing their freaky, subconscious clinginess to trap him forever - it’s not like there’s anyone else around to help him, he already checked; everyone has vacated the premises, off to their own beds - when he apparently wriggles a bit too enthusiastically and Shiro makes some sort of discontented grumble and slings a leg up and over Lance’s thigh, pinning him down even more effectively.

Lance huffs out a laugh. Fine. Whatever. He gives up, he’ll stay.

Behind him, Ryou shuffles closer and presses a lazy kiss to the back of his neck, dry lips whispering over Lance’s skin.

He shivers, dropping his forehead against Shiro’s chest and trying to get his breath back from his wrestle with a pair of giant koala babies. “Is this for real?” he mumbles, eyes squeezed shut like it’ll keep the illusion going if he just can’t _see_. “I’m really not dreaming?”

Shiro chuckles, his chest vibrating against Lance’s face, and nuzzles against the top of his head. “No. You’re not dreaming.”

Someone’s arms - probably Ryou’s since the heavy weight of the prosthetic is resting on top of his hip and warm flesh is squished under his side - tighten around his waist. It’s _too_ tight, too uncomfortable to be a dream his mind conjured up; if he were asleep there wouldn’t be any pain, not even the steady, stabbing pangs in his heart. It’s like electric shocks and the crash of falling stars; destruction and violence with the sweet scent of hope and renewed life.

“We want to date you,” Ryou says, his breath wafting over Lance’s spine and bringing a wave of warm tingles. “Both of us.”

Lance’s breath punches out of his chest, heat and excitement rushing through his veins and coloring his face. His fingers twist in Shiro’s shirt, wrinkling it horribly, and he forces himself not to push back into Ryou’s chest. “You’re not just saying that? This isn’t some pity thing?”

He can feel both of them shaking their heads and they pull back a bit, guiding Lance gently over onto his back until he’s looking up at the both of them where they’re propped on their elbows, all of their legs tangled together in a jumble.

“Definitely not,” Shiro says. “We— I started to fall in love with you _before_. I was going to tell you after defeating Zarkon, but…”

But he disappeared.

“And then I never felt like it was a good time,” Ryou picks up. “And—” His face screws up in an expression of shame and grief. “And I knew something was wrong, even if I wouldn’t admit it to myself at first. I knew I wasn’t treating you right and that it would be a horrible time to say anything about my feelings. And then…” he trails off.

“And then Shiro came back,” Lance finishes.

They both nod.

“It was complicated,” Shiro says. “I hated that you turned me down that night, but I knew you were right, that it wouldn’t be fair to any of us. It was something the two of us talked about a lot in the beginning, when we first tried to come to an understanding with each other.” He tips his head sideways until it’s resting against Ryou’s temple and his lips curl into a fond smile. “It wasn’t long before we cared about each other enough to promise not to make a move on you, but neither of us could let go of you either.”

“And then we fell for each other,” Ryou says, shrugging. “Not exactly how we expected things to go, but we couldn’t deny that it was the perfect solution.”

Lance’s gaze flits between the two of them, taking in the easy affection in their touches, the way their eyes light up with each other’s proximity, remembers the gradual change in their friendship over the last few months and how close they’ve gotten. Yesterday it had made him, well. Not bitter, but… happy and sad and jealous and warm all at the same time.

Now, with their confession, it’s perfect, it’s all perfect.

“How long have you two…?”

“Been together?” Shiro asks. “A few weeks. We thought we should make sure we weren’t jumping into things, that we weren’t getting caught up in the moment or something before we came to talk to you.”

“And you’re sure you want to add _me_ into all this?” Lance asks, gesturing between the two of them with a skeptical frown. “You two seem really happy together, you’ve both gotten more relaxed lately and I can see why you fit together so well. You can understand each other better than anyone else. What could I possibly add to that?”

They both blink at him, expressions blank with surprise, before Ryou frowns. “You can add a lot to this relationship, Lance. Is this because of me?” His eyes glitter with sadness and his mouth tugs down. “Did I make you feel like we don’t really want you?”

“No!” Lance blurts out, shaking his head emphatically. “No, you didn’t, it’s just-” He stops, unsure how to say what he means without spilling out all of his insecurities and the unfortunate hero worship he still can’t quite forget. “I’m just _me_ ,” he settles on.

“Exactly,” Shiro nods. “You’re clever and funny and extremely adaptable. You’re more loyal than anyone I’ve ever met and your biggest hangup about this whole Voltron thing is that you can’t see your family. You don’t have all the baggage the two of us have.”

Ryou nods his head with enthusiasm. “Yeah, exactly. It irritated me when I had all those voices in my head, but your optimism and brevity is really nice most of the time. It keeps the rest of us from being too serious. Shiro and I have been stuck in dark places too much for too long. You bring light back into our lives, you make us smile and laugh. We need that or we’ll just be broody and isolated all the time.”

“And to be honest, I don’t know of anyone who wouldn’t want to be with someone who loves them as much as you love both of us,” Shiro says, and there’s so much warmth, appreciation - dare Lance say it - _love_ \- in his gaze, that it takes the breath right out of his lungs. “Even if there weren’t all of the rest of the benefits we just rattled off, just that would be enough. How could we not want all of that love and loyalty and light added to this?” he asks, gesturing between him and Ryou.

Lance’s gaze roves over their faces, searching for any doubt or hesitation, and finds nothing but quiet confidence and contentment. His heart is in his throat, tears welling in his eyes, and he can feel his face stretching into a slow, tentative smile. “I really want to date you too,” he blurts.

They both beam at him and before Lance can react, Ryou rushes forward and smashes their lips together, quick and hungry and aggressive. “God, _finally_ ,” he says, muttering between kisses and enthusiastic nuzzles.

Lance hears Shiro chuckling from a distance, but his heart is pounding and he’s too busy just trying to keep up with Ryou to react, his lips hot and slick and tingling. He tears himself away, flushed and out of breath, and stares up at Ryou who looks just as wrecked as he feels. “Wow. You’re like, really good at that?”

Ryou grins. “Yeah? I’ve got a good memory and a better teacher,” he says, throwing a smirk over at Shiro.

Shiro’s cheeks pink a bit, but his eyes are burning as he looks between them with a fond smile. “He’s a fast learner.”

Lance stares up at them with wide eyes. “I want to see that,” he breathes.

Shiro’s smirk widens, but he shoves Ryou over and crowds over Lance, caging him to the floor. “Later. I wanna kiss _you_ first.”

Lance is totally on board with that, one hundred percent, and he tangles his fingers in Shiro’s collar and yanks him down. Kissing Shiro is different than kissing Ryou, less frenetic and aggressive. Shiro kisses like he has all the time in the world, relaxed and lazy slides of lip and tongue, but so sensual and sexy Lance’s bones feel like liquid.

It’s a long, wonderful minute before Shiro pulls back, pressing a final kiss to the tip of Lance’s nose, and reaches over to tug Ryou close. “So we’re doing this?” he asks. “All three of us?”

Lance takes in both of their painfully hopeful expressions, the way they’re holding onto him as tightly and affectionately as they are each other, and finally lets himself believe they really mean it. They really want this, want _him_. “This was all your idea, so I’m not making the announcement to everyone else,” he says.

Shiro throws his head back and laughs.

Ryou grins, bright with amusement. “Deal.” He stands, straightening his clothes before reaching down to help Lance up to his feet, ignoring Shiro who’s laying on his back and gazing up at the ceiling, still chuckling. “Come on, I’m sure everyone is already eating. Lets go get some breakfast.”

Lance follows along without protest, hand still clasped tightly in Ryou’s, feels Shiro come up behind them and wrap his arm around Lance’s shoulders and press a kiss to his temple. They walk into the kitchen like that, all tangled up in each other and half stumbling _into_ each other, and everyone else looks up and pauses for a long moment, taking them in.

“Finally!” Hunk shouts.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve gone over this with a fine-toothed comb at least a dozen times, but I’m sure I’ve missed a few things. Let me know if you spot a typo or any remaining HTML. 
> 
>  
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://zacekova.tumblr.com/). I take prompts!


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